The Alderaanian
by Arallute
Summary: Some details of Leia Organa's life, from the point of view of her cook and personal assistant, Hestia.
1. Aldera

"The Alderaanian"

We're evacuating D'Qar. Just when I was getting a firm grasp of the local plants and animals, enough to create some really appetizing dishes for the Resistance fighters, we're moving. You'd think I'd be used to it by now; how many planets have I lived on? Two dozen? Still, Crait doesn't sound like it has a lot going for it, as far as foodstuff goes. The planet's apparently just a big hunk of briny rock. At least we won't run out of salt.

But the First Order knows we're on D'Qar, so we're moving. No matter. Wherever Leia Organa is, that's where I'm going. I've worked for my princess for…what, thirty five years? Maybe more?

PZ-4CO is collecting stories; she's assembling some sort of archive of Resistance members and, assumedly, alumni of the Rebel Alliance as well. Since I've served in both organizations, the Princess asked me to give PZ my recollections. I'll start with my first real job; that's when things got interesting.

* * *

I'm just not going into the family business, no matter how hard Mom, Dad and Aunt Zahra push. Teaching might be a noble profession—a calling and all that—but I'm not cut out for it. I'm a restauranteur. I love cooking, love the business of food, of preparing dishes that people will pay for and an ambiance they'll travel across town for. I've never wanted to be a teacher like the rest of them. After one month of running _Aldera,_ I'm quite certain it's better than calmly standing behind a lectern at Archipelago University while hundreds of students stare at you. The pace—especially at dinnertime—is frenetic, chaotic. But it's controlled chaos, and I love it.

I guess the problem with being the black nerf of the family is that I can't complain to anyone at home about my struggles at work. They'll just tell me to head back to university or get a "solid, steady" job. I could teach cooking…if this restaurant fails. But I can't let it fail, if only because I don't want to disappoint my family. After all the bravado and begging it took to get a loan from my parents, I simply must succeed.

 _Aldera_ , as the name suggests, is an Alderaanian-themed place on Imperial Center. Yes, I know, it's one of the pricier planets anywhere, but since Duncan and I met and realized our common passion, it's been a dream of ours. He's Coruscanti—can you still say that? I mean, it sounds dumb to say he's 'Imperial Centrist.' Anyway, Duncan inherited an empty building from his uncle just as we graduated, so it seemed serendipitous. (He wanted to call the restaurant Serendipity, but I thought it didn't convey the theme well. Alderaanian food is so popular in the capital, so why not advertise it?)

* * *

Things are going pretty well now. After eight months, _Aldera_ is turning a pretty nice profit—finally! We've got some regulars: a lot of Alderaanian expats, of course, but also some locals. Tourists come in, too, especially since we got a four-star review in _PlanetHopper_. Mom and Dad have come around, grudgingly but honestly. On Dad's last Name Day, they visited me and ate in the restaurant. They "loved" the food and actually apologized for doubting me. It was one of the better moments of my life, making peace with them like that.

Duncan and I work well as a team…well, as a business team. Personally, though, our romance has completely disintegrated. First, we have so little time for each other. This place is a black hole, sucking in all the energy we possess. We barely see each other outside of work, although we've been sharing a little apartment. Only the 55th floor, though it's good enough. I can't expect an Alderaanian level of comfort in the Galactic City. I knew that when I moved here. But Duncan and I are so different, and although our strengths do complement each other in the restaurant, we clash nonstop when we're alone. I'm a neat freak; he's unbelievably sloppy, except in the kitchen. He thinks I'm bossy and controlling, I think he's not paying attention to me. We argue about politics. How he can _still_ support Emperor Palpatine is just beyond me. Maybe our parents' generation got suckered by him, but after almost twenty years of Imperial rule, come on!

Oh, speaking of politics. The Galactic Senate was disbanded yesterday. _Disbanded._ By the Emperor's executive order. Duncan's not even upset about it. There goes the last vestige of democracy. And I can't even imagine what it'll do to our business. Aldera is in the Federal District, less than a kilometer from the Senate building. I guess those senators and their staff are all unemployed now? Going back to their homeworlds? I know Palpatine doesn't care about the common beings—we're just so far beneath him—but so much of Imperial Center's economy is focused on the government, and I fear we're about to go into a real recession here. A lot of our clients are senators, or their aides; there's a whole service industry in the Federal District based around the Senate. What are we all going to do now?

* * *

I was discussing goat chops when I heard the news. A new recipe for goat chops in a Toniray reduction sauce. I was listening to my sous-chefs give ideas about side dishes and possible wine pairings, when Fiona burst in. "Alderaan is gone," she said. She repeated it three times, three different ways, before anyone understood what she meant.

My mind went blank.

Gone. My home is gone. My parents, my aunts and uncles and friends and Appenza Peak and the glacier lakes and the city of Aldera. My parents….

* * *

The day after The Cataclysm, I went to work. I didn't know what else to do. We opened at 11:00 for lunch, but of course I arrived hours before that. And at a quarter to eleven, I came out of the kitchen to take a peek at the dining room. My mind couldn't process quite what I was seeing. There was a line of people, waiting wordlessly to enter _Aldera._ A line. We'd never had a line before.

For several days, we had a full house for lunch, dinner, and even in between those meals. Hundreds of ex-pats who lived in Coruscant's Level 3204 came by. People who'd visited Alderaan once for their honeymoons, people who'd traveled to our capital on business or enjoyed a little ecotourism or traded in our spaceports or hiked in our mountains or had always wanted to visit our planet but never got around to it…so many stories. All these beings came to our restaurant and poured out their memories to _me,_ the maître d' and—suddenly—their psychologist as well. I finished each workday exhausted, like a dish cloth wrung out until it was fraying. But I didn't want to close, even on our usual day off. These poor broken-hearted souls needed some sort of outlet.

After about a week of this relentless dining-with-therapy, an Imperial moff with flat eyes came into _Aldera_. It was around two o'clock, well after the lunch rush. He made a beeline for me and came right to the point. "You need to stop talking about Alderaan. And stop encouraging your patrons to talk about it."

I flinched. How was I supposed to tell my diners what to talk about? His point seemed to be that my restaurant was creating an atmosphere of resentment against our government, one which might lead to traitorous thoughts of mischief or even rebellion. I argued with him—gently, respectfully, he was a moff and I was beyond nervous—and finally agreed to "tone it down," whatever that was supposed to mean.

Duncan flipped out when I told him about the moff's visit. Terrified that we might actually get arrested or something, he suggested we should close the restaurant down for a week or two, until "things calmed down." What, like until Alderaan's atoms reconnected and the people came back to life? I called him a coward. He rolled his eyes and said something about Alderaanian women and their famously short tempers. The conversation went downhill from there. He ended up taking off for a week at his parents' home. I didn't know it then, but it was the last time I'd ever see Duncan.

 _Aldera_ was becoming a hotbed of anger, a meeting place for rogues and seditionists. I stubbornly refused to shut the restaurant down and, if anything, became even more direct with the grieving patrons, blaming the Cataclysm completely on the Emperor. Maybe I was too open, too loud. I was mourning like the rest of them, and didn't really care who heard me.

"You should guard your tongue," a dinner guest chastised me. "Your Empire has done so much for you, provided you with so much. Be grateful." I recognized her; she had frequently dined with Viceroy Organa. I wonder if he'd survived, or had been at home when It happened. This woman, though, looked like she'd aged ten years in a month. She wasn't Alderaanian, but she and the Viceroy had certainly been close colleagues if not friends. I respected her for that, even if she now sounded like a typical Imperial bureaucrat. I noticed other diners eyeing her with smoldering resentment.

"I'm sorry, Senator Mothma," I told the red-haired woman in a more subdued tone of voice. "I just can't seem to stop speaking my mind these days." I pursed my lips. "I'm missing my family, and I guess I just lash out indiscriminately. I don't mean anything by it. Enjoy your meal." I scurried back to the kitchen, sweat running down my back. If she reported me….

The very next day, a man came in to _Aldera._ We'd just closed for the night. The waitstaff had left and I was sweeping up. "Greet the night," the man said politely. An Alderaanian greeting. I sighed. Another one who needed to be consoled.

"Though it be as black as my soul these days," I answered wearily. I apologized, told him we couldn't offer him anything.

"I'm not hungry, thanks. I'm here to talk to you, Hestia. In private."


	2. Into the Rebellion

As it turned out, the strange man hadn't come into my restaurant to arrest me or even threaten me. His name was Carlist Rieekan, and he'd come to offer me a job.

" _Aldera_ is a lovely restaurant, but it's becoming more than a place to eat. It's now a symbol for the disenfranchised people of Coruscant. People who might be willing to join an organized rebellion against the government."

I began to sweat. I always do, when I'm nervous. Who was he, anyway? Was this a trick? He was an Alderaanian, perhaps, and had called the planet by its pre-Imperial name Coruscant, but I didn't yet know if I could trust him. Maybe he was just pretending to be a seditionist so that I'd admit my own political leanings, and then he'd arrest me. In a dictatorship, nobody really trusts anybody, you know. Anyone could be an intel agent, and most people would turn a neighbor in to the Imps in exchange for advancement. Even Duncan might've betrayed me, for the right reward.

"You mean, the people of Imperial Center," I corrected him carefully. "That's the name of this planet."

Rieekan smiled ruefully. "It was called Coruscant for thousands of years, and that's what I'm sticking with." While my eyes widened, he continued. "For a week you've been bad-mouthing the government. No need to pretend with me now."

I winced internally. "I'm a loyal citizen. I've just been under a lot of stress recently. The loss of my parents…." I trailed off. "You understand."

Rieekan nodded sadly. "Oh, I know your pain. But I also know your restaurant isn't going to last long. A few weeks, tops, then the Imps will shut you down. They'll find some excuse—health code, fire codes, whatever—and you'll be under suspicion, if not under arrest. You should get off of Coruscant now." He leaned forward. "I'm here to offer you a way out."

I blinked. I tried to come up with a neutral question, something that would give me more information but wouldn't brand me as an anti-Imperial, but managed only, "What are you talking about?"

"There's a group of us working to overthrow the Empire."

"Overthrow the…?"

"Overthrow the Imperial government," he repeated. "Replace it with a new Republic. Take out the Emperor by force. We call ourselves the Rebel Alliance, and we're growing in strength every day. A lot of Alderaanian survivors have joined us—they have nowhere else to go, nothing else to fight for." He swallowed hard, then refocused. "We'd like you to join us."

"You want me to join a…a rebellion…that'll 'take out' the Emperor?" My mind spun. "Are you kidding me? You want me to join some terrorist army? I'm a _cook."_

"Yes, I know that. Even Rebels need to eat. We could use a good cook." He smiled at me. "And I personally could use some Alderaanian comfort food."

"I think I'm already under suspicion," I admitted. "A former senator heard me talking yesterday, and she might've reported me."

"Mon Mothma, you mean?"

Surprised, I nodded. Rieekan just shrugged, nonplussed. "She was just testing the waters. She's not going to report you; she's one of ours."

I gaped at him. "She's a _Senator."_

"Was a senator. She resigned last year, you know."

"I hadn't heard."

"Well. There are very few places on Coruscant she'd show her face nowadays, but _Aldera_ is considered pretty safe. She's…a sympathizer, believe me. As were our own two Alderaanian senators."

Immediately defensive of our beloved royal family, I said, "They were _not_. Alderaanians are pacifists, not terrorists. House Organa would never—"

"Why do you think our planet was destroyed, Hestia?" he interrupted me. "Bail Organa _founded_ the Rebel Alliance. Along with our Queen, and Senator Amidala of Naboo, and others. _He started it._ And we're not terrorists, by the way. We don't attack civilians, never have. We are an army, but we're aiming at military and political targets. We destroyed the Death Star two days ago." He paused for a breath, tilted his head at me. "Are you happy to hear that?"

"What's the Death Star?" I asked numbly.

And so it went. After he finally convinced me, I abandoned my beloved restaurant without a word to anyone and returned to the apartment to pack my things, leaving a vague note for Duncan on the kitchen table. Then I flew off with Carlist Rieekan, general in the Rebel Alliance, to a secret hidden base and a life of crime.

* * *

The first time I saw Leia Organa, she was arguing with a pilot. I barely recognized that diminutive woman, just a few years younger than I, as my crown princess. She was chasing a man down a corridor of _Home One,_ her braids and white dress the only obvious symbols of her lineage. The pilot—not in uniform, but he had the smug assuredness of a pilot—was walking briskly away from her, tossing insults over his shoulder, and she was trotting angrily after him.

Obviously, the guy didn't know who she was. So as they passed me, I touched his arm. "You're addressing a princess," I informed him.

He just smirked at me, not at all apologetic. "I'm not _addressing_ her at all. She just can't leave me alone." He turned towards her and grinned suggestively. "Must be my animal magnetism." As he sauntered away, he winked at her. Winked. At Princess Senator Organa. My jaw dropped open.

The princess rolled her eyes and let him go. "He certainly has the manners of an animal," she muttered. Then she looked at me, exhaled a frustrated breath, and adjusted her stance. "Hello," she said. "I'm Leia Organa."

I shook my head at her proffered hand, giving her a little curtsy instead. "Hestia Conifer. It's an honor to meet you, Highness."

She smiled graciously. "Which part of Alderaan are you from?"

"About 20 kilometers away from Cloudshape Falls, originally. But my family moved to Aldera when I was nine. I, uh…I greatly admire Your Highness's family. I'm so glad you're all right."

She shrugged lightly. "More or less. Are you new to the Rebellion, Ms. Conifer?"

"Hestia, please. Yes, General Rieekan recruited me on Imperi—on Coruscant. I'm a cook."

Her eyebrows rose delicately. "Oh, you're the one Rieekan snatched away from that restaurant in the Federal District?"

"I'm so pleased you remember it. You ate there a few times with your father, I think." I felt myself beginning to blush.

She looked right at me with what I thought might be respect in her chestnut eyes. "You're a great chef."

That one sentence— _you're a great chef—_ was enough to keep me firmly and permanently in the Rebel Alliance.

I met the other young people who'd been assigned to the mess hall as 'cooks,' and I use that term loosely. They weren't trained in the culinary arts at all, and the food they were producing was barely edible. I took over the kitchen, designing menus with whatever foodstuffs we had, sending pilots on scouting runs for spices or vegetables (along with their actual orders), and teaching my staff how to cook. Every time one of the young kitchen workers thanked me for teaching them something new, I had to smile inwardly. My parents and Aunt Zahra would've been so proud of me: I had finally became a teacher. Sort of. On-the-job training for rebel chefs.

It was hard for me then—as it is now—to articulate my admiration for Princess Leia, even before I got to know her well. Like all Alderaanians, I loved Queen Breha, and therefore cherished her daughter as the embodiment of the Queen's values. The mere sight of the princess brought up nostalgic feelings for my lost homeworld. Over time, I also grew to admire her strength, her intelligence and passionate convictions, especially after I learned just where she had been when Alderaan was destroyed. She lived with the weight of that loss, grief probably mingled with guilt, yet she carried herself with grace and lightness. I even liked how she lived up to the stereotype (the one Duncan used to berate me for) of the direct, no-nonsense Aldera woman. She could really argue: I once saw her shut up an entire X-wing squadron with one sharp barb, and her verbal sparring with that aforementioned pilot was legendary. (She eventually married him…but that's another story.)

Meeting Princess Leia in person convinced me I'd made the right choice in joining the Alliance. I was more loyal to her than to any political cause, although as time went on, I began to develop political awareness as well. When you're a young person, just trying to get a career established and navigate your first romantic relationship, you don't always look up and see the government around you, as tyrannical as it may be. But in the Rebellion, my senses sharpened.

I was forever grateful to General Rieekan. He'd been right about me getting off of Coruscant: I would have ended up in an Imperial prison if not for him. Months after joining up, I met a Y-wing pilot who'd lived in Galactic City. He told me my beloved _Aldera_ had been shut down after Alderaanians rioted through the city. The restaurant employees were all arrested for "agitation." I assume poor Duncan was with them.

So that's how I came to be with the Rebel Alliance: General Rieekan got me off of Coruscant before the Imperials came for me, and Princess Leia called me a great chef. My loyalty to those two Alderaanians kept me with the Rebellion until the war ended.


	3. Winter Fete

During the next few years, members of the Rebel Alliance battled the Imperials wherever we could, claiming small victories on small planets, bringing more and more citizens into our fold. Mon Mothma—who wasn't merely a "Rebel sympathizer," like Rieekan had implied, but rather the leader of the Alliance—said that's how we'd win the war: by winning the hearts and minds of enough fed-up people to have a critical mass. And one day, all these minor, planet-wide uprisings would merge into galactic revolution.

That was the hope, anyway. I left that all up to the Rebellion leadership. I was no fortune teller, no soldier, pilot, politician nor diplomat. But, as General Rieekan had told me, even revolutionary firebrands had to eat sometime. And so I cooked.

I wanted the rebels to be as well-fed as possible, since they had so little else to look forward to. Since I was a little girl, I'd cooked to show love. I had brought my parents breakfast in bed on the weekends, baked sweets for my school class, and later, arranged fancy dinners for my teenaged friends. Duncan and I had taken turns cooking dinner for each other. I think we both found it easier to show affection through food rather than words. But it hurts now to think of Duncan, and my parents, and all those sweet schoolchildren whose atoms now float weightlessly around Alderaan's ruins. So let me return to the topic of the Alliance. I cooked my butt off for the rebels, in order to demonstrate how much I valued them and their work. I was too…cowardly?…to fight battles, but I admired them more than I had anyone in my life.

It's not easy to feed an army, you know. Getting enough ingredients to construct meals took a lot of creative planning. Luckily, the Alliance didn't all stay together in the same place, so I was cooking for dozens rather than hundreds. We usually stayed on ships, several flotillas spread out in the empty space between inhabited worlds. Sometimes we spent weeks, even months on friendly or barren planets. Being planetside was easiest for me; I worked with whatever foodstuffs I could find locally. Once we spent three months on a sympathetic farmer's sprawling ranch, with hectares of beautiful green and golden vegetables arranged neatly in rows and plenty of wild game for the taking. (I lobbied hard to make _that_ planet a permanent base. Sadly, it was inhabited, so eventually we were betrayed by a local.)

But it was rare to be on a planet with edible plants and animals readily available. And so I became friendly with the Rebel pilots who made supply runs. They'd fly inconspicuously to big, anonymous cities, where they procured weapons, intelligence, clothes, medical supplies, and of course groceries for me. Han Solo and his copilot Chewbacca became my preferred errand-boys. Somehow, they knew just where in the galaxy to find random ingredients, and always brought back a little more than I'd asked for.

For example, Han and Chewbacca were instrumental in making Winter Fete possible. If you aren't familiar with that holiday, it's a tradition that began in the monarchical Tapani sector and spread to other worlds familiar with aristocracies, including Alderaan. It was an end-of-year celebration, quite beloved. On Alderaan, every town square would be decorated and filled with shopping booths for the week-long Fete. Craftsmen displayed their handmade toys and tools, florists sold winter-flowers, and bakers showcased their unique versions of the polestar, a sugar-covered lemon cookie in a star shape. Musicians would play traditional Winter Fete music, creating a festive atmosphere. All Alderaanians came out each year to the marketplace, braving the snowy weather in order to buy each other little gifts from the vendors and enjoy the ambience.

As a child, Princess Leia had loved polestars so much that House Organa's royal yacht was named after the cookie. And that's what gave me the inspiration to design a Winter Fete for the Alliance. How better to cherish the memory of Alderaan than through its sweetest, gentlest traditions?

At the time of the first annual Winter Fete, I was stationed with the fleet somewhere in the Mid Rim. I proposed my idea to General Crix Madine, who was the bridge officer of my ship at the time. A Corellian native, he had never heard of the holiday, and just stared at me with his flat blue eyes as I explained the plan. "You want to throw a _party?_ Isn't that a bit…frivolous?"

Before I could explain the difference between a raucous drunken party and a peaceful Winter Fete, my good luck charm Han Solo piped up. He'd been eavesdropping, and liked the idea of an Alderaanian holiday. I don't remember how he convinced Madine to let us have it. Probably used his considerably charming powers of persuasion. Or maybe he appealed to General Madine as a fellow Corellian. However he did it, we got permission.

The rebels of Alderaanian heritage went to work making winter-flowers out of colorful paper and finding recordings of the proper songs. Everyone got into the spirit of the event—why wouldn't they? They were all likely to die soon, so why not celebrate life? My concern, of course, was the food. Most beings in the galaxy associate their favorite holidays with the foods of the season, and so we couldn't have Winter Fete without three things: polestar cookies, oladkas (crispy fried potatoes with a sweet fruit sauce), and glow-wine (normally a Toniray red wine served hot, with cinnamon, cloves and a few other secret-ingredient Alderaanian spices).

It didn't take long for me to convince Captain Solo to go on a scouting mission and bring back the requisite ingredients. Obviously, fifty liters of Alderaanian Toniray Red were unavailable, but I gave him a list of suitable alternatives. I found it charming that Han was so willing to risk his life for cookies and glow-wine. Of course I suspected it might have something to do with our Princess. Captain Solo would jump through any culinary hoop I gave him if I simply mentioned that a particular dish was Her Highness's favorite. They'd only known each other for, oh, about eight months at this point, and they argued incessantly, but I could tell that he was utterly loyal to her. She never went on a dangerous mission without him guarding her, and he pampered her in little ways. Every time he went on a supply run, he'd bring back some little delicacies he knew she liked, and ask me to present them to her. He wanted the gifts to be anonymous, so I never let him find out that I always told the Princess exactly who had bought the treats for her. Captain Solo would've been embarrassed to know that she knew.

The first Winter Fete was held only on our ship, though most of the Alderaanian and Tapani-sector soldiers came over for the occasion. General Rieekan complimented my version of glow-wine, and Princess Leia happily accepted my plate of leftover polestars after the party. It was the first time I'd seen her giggle. I made sure Han was watching her when she did; I thought it might please him to know that his efforts had brought her some small joy.

The following year's end, we celebrated Winter Fete on a hot, sticky jungle planet—totally the wrong vibe for the holiday, but we made do. Most of the rebels participated that year, having heard about it from their mates. I remember seeing Lieutenant Shara Bey with a mug of my special alcohol-free blend of glow-wine. Her husband Kes couldn't stop caressing her swollen belly, even though all his fellow soldiers made fun of his romantic nature. Shara and I had become friends in the mess hall that year. She was having a difficult pregnancy—her first—and often sought my help in choosing snacks that didn't nauseate her. Shara had a wicked sense of humor and was passionate about the Cause. Despite being a daredevil A-wing pilot, she had a very sensible sense of self-preservation. Shara left the Alliance soon after that Winter Fete to have her baby on her homeworld of Yavin IV. But her devotion to the Alliance brought her back until the end of the war, while her little son Poe stayed tucked away with his grandfather on Yavin. So many people sacrificed so much for the Rebellion. (Shara and Kes went back to Yavin IV for their little boy after Endor, but Shara died of Gordian Pox a few years later.)

I'm off topic again, though. I was talking about Winter Fete. My third year with the Alliance, we had an even bigger celebration, with much more appropriate weather: the frigid world of Hoth. That year, there was a slight problem with a Tauntaun. Zev Seneska gave one of the snow lizards an oily oladka, causing several hours of…uh, extreme intestinal distress. The whole Echo Base reeked for a few days, making Zev the least popular member of Rogue Squadron. Or of any squadron in galactic history. He pulled night duty for the remaining time we were on Hoth, redeeming himself only by finding Luke Skywalker and Han after they'd spent a night in the cold outside of base. Just when we'd all finally forgiven him for the Terrible Tauntaun Trouble, Zev was killed in his snowspeeder during the Battle of Hoth.

When I think back now on my time with the Rebel Alliance, these are the sort of memories that are the strongest. The friendly fraternity of the soldiers. The small gifts we gave each other. The pranks, secret trysts, and held-back tears after a friend's death. And our celebrations, like the gambling and drinking parties that the pilots threw, or the yearly Winter Fetes, or the firework-filled blowout we had after the Battle of Endor. The rebels knew the importance of cherishing life in the face of death and defeat.

* * *

 _ **Author's notes:** I didn't make up Zev, but I did invent the reason that he was out so early in a snowspeeder._

 _The Organa's yacht, according to Claudia Gray's novel_ Leia, _really is called the Polestar. I stole the cookie idea from a German Christmas tradition (along with Glühwein). And oladka is just the Russian word for the Chanukah_ latke _. Happy holidays to all, and happy Winter Fete to you Alderaanians and Tapanis._


	4. Han & Leia

I understand that my story is just a small, unimportant part of the narrative of the Rebel Alliance. History is the study of heroes and villains, and I am neither. Nobody will remember me after I die, no star ships will be named for me. I have no children to pass my secrets on to—there's no one who'll even remember my recipes, except those three sweet little Solo children I cooked for.

Just one child left, now. Two of them are dead.

Shall I tell you that story, PZ-4CO? The story of those children and their parents? I'm sure that's the part you want: the story of the heroes and villains.

Well, I know the Skywalker-Solo clan fairly well. I can talk about them.

* * *

"Hi, are you the cook around here?" I recognized the speaker, the dark-haired pilot who'd been arguing with the Princess in the corridor the day before. The irreverent one who didn't care about her titles.

"Greet the day, Captain. Yes, I'm the head chef." I spoke haughtily. I spent four years training in the finest culinary school of Alderaan, and so this man could certainly learn to refer to me as _chef._

Half of his mouth twisted up in a smile. Or maybe a sneer. "You're Alderaanian, aren't you?" I nodded, and he mumbled to himself, "Another one."

Was he comparing me somehow to Princess Leia? He sounded more frustrated than complimentary, but I chose to take it as praise. I tried a small smile. "Yes, Captain, we're everywhere."

"Oh. That's great," he deadpanned. I was beginning to like him. "Well, Chef," he continued, emphasizing the title, "I'm gonna be on a mission for a couple days and could use some food. Whatever you've got for, y'know, carry-out."

My eyebrows arched up. "Carry-out?" This was a military canteen, not a fast food joint.

"Yeah, we're going to a desert."

I nodded, already thinking of ideas. "Do you have refrigeration on your ship?"

"Uh-huh. Refrigeration, freezer, even a portable stove. You know the _Millennium Falcon?"_

"Never heard of it. How many people are going?"

"Not a big fan of ships, huh?" His frank stare was disconcerting. And he was, well, very handsome up close. The half-open shirt and the deep voice didn't help matters, either. I tried to focus on the subject at hand.

"No, I don't care about ships. So how many people do I need to feed?"

"Just four. But one of us is a Wookiee, so it's more like six."

As it turned out, Han Solo—that was his name, I asked around later—was flying Princess Leia, Chewbacca, and their new friend Luke Skywalker to a place called Jedha City. The Imperials had destroyed the city the previous week, but there was a Rebel cell there, run by a man named Saw Gerrera. On the off-chance that some of Saw's partisans had escaped, the Alliance was sending a team to investigate and retrieve the survivors.

This was the first mission the Princess took with those men in tow, but it certainly wouldn't be the last. As I already said, she never went into danger again without either Han or Luke—or both—at her side. It took me a while to figure out that Captain Solo didn't actually work for the Alliance. He was just a sort of permanent visitor, hanging around to protect his friends Luke and Leia. Those two always seemed to be in the thick of the fighting, and Solo just kept going along for the ride.

I wasn't friends with Leia Organa in those early days. I still thought of her as my princess, my senator, and I suppose she still thought of herself that way too, at least when she was around the Alderaanian survivors of the Cataclysm. She had trouble talking to us. I therefore returned to my role as maître d' / counselor for the people of Alderaan…except for Princess Leia. She never spoke of the homeworld or any facet of it. She maintained her mask of strength, always.

I mentioned that mask to Han once. His face serious for once, he gestured to the bulwarks the Rebels were constructing around our new base. "See those walls? Leia's got one around her heart, a durasteel bulwark. No pain gets through." It was rare that he complimented anyone to their face—especially not Leia—but he clearly respected her a great deal.

I've already told you a bit about my relationship with Han Solo. I came to really admire his humor and irreverence. His behavior was totally different than courteous, gentle Alderaanian or Coruscanti men. Han's personality was novel for me, and more than a little fun. After a while I understood how his superficially careless, casual attitude hid an unswerving loyalty to those he loved: Chewbacca, Luke, the Princess, and—much later—his children.

Leia's priorities were actually harder to pin down than Han's. When I was young, I assumed she just lived for House Organa and the people of Alderaan. That's what she was trained for. She was an Imperial Senator—a lot of people nowadays forget that's how she started her political career—but Alderaanians knew her loyalty lay with us more than Coruscant. By the time I met her, just after the Cataclysm, she was throwing herself into the Rebellion. She didn't much care if she survived or not. I don't mean she was truly suicidal, but she gave the impression that everything and everyone else was more important than she.

Han Solo was the only person who kept those self-destructive tendencies of hers at bay. I saw the two of them just after that first mission to Jedha City, for example. She came into the mess hall to thank me and get a cup of tea—she liked tea in the evenings—and Han was right at her heels. They were arguing again.

"Do you two ever get tired of bickering?" I asked them.

"Yes," the princess snapped, at the same time Han said "Nope."

Yeah, they sure could fight. But I realized after a few minutes of listening that Han was _worried_ about her. That's what they often fought about: he thought (rightly) that she risked her life needlessly, and his frustration with her derived from a sense of fear for her safety. It took me years to figure out he loved her, but I knew early on that he at least cared.

Leia, meanwhile, resented his attentions. Why? Oh, I don't think she even knew why. She was still so young, just nineteen, and she probably wanted to prove to Han, to the Rebel leadership and everyone else, that she was adult enough to tackle risky missions. Maybe she felt smothered by Han's protectiveness. And maybe she just really wanted to kill more Imps than she was allowed to. I mean, I know this isn't a popular opinion, but our princess was no Alderaanian pacifist. On a few occasions during the war, I saw her snap and just mow down stormtroopers in fury. Luke was always slow to anger; Leia, not so much. She hated the Empire, as she hates the Snoke's First Order now. (I'm not sure her brother is even capable of hate. They're very different, you know.)

Ah, but I'm getting off topic again. Back to love. I realized that Han and the princess had fallen in love with each other only when he was gone. It was about three years into my time with the Rebellion. Han had rescued her—yet again—during the evacuation of Hoth. But he'd been captured by Jabba the Hutt. I remember seeing Leia shortly after she returned, on another Rebel ship…the _Mercy,_ maybe? Her chestnut eyes looked forlorn, despondent, in a way I had never seen before. She came to the canteen, unable to sleep and hoping for some company. I was scrubbing my kitchen clean like I did every night, as fastidious as a protocol droid. But I stopped for Her Highness.

That evening, Leia and I became friends.

We talked about love and loss over green tea. She opened up to me about Han, admitting that in order to search for him, she was ready to _abandon the Alliance_ if Mon Mothma wouldn't grant her leave. She told me about a long, slow, romantic voyage at sublight speed, about space slugs and a city in pink clouds and Darth Vader. I told her about my erstwhile boyfriend Duncan, and she teased me about flirting with X-wing pilots, which I certainly did. That was all the experience I'd had with love, really—just Duncan and a few casual affairs with pilots.

I got the feeling that Leia didn't have many female friends. There weren't very many human women in the Alliance, and Leia wasn't known to open up easily. But we had a good long talk that evening, and she trusted me from then on. She was still part of Alliance Command while I was still just the chef, but I learned to treat her as an equal—within limits, of course, I was still an Alderaanian subject—and she learned to loosen up with me.

Han's loss preoccupied her for months, and her smiles were rare. But there was one day when I remember making her laugh. Luke Skywalker was in charge of Rogue Squadron at that time, and despite his leadership position, the Rogues were all quite casual with each other. So Luke and Leia walked into Wedge Antilles's quarters to talk to him one morning, and caught Wedge and me in a…well, very compromising…position. Commander Skywalker turned as red as his flight suit, turned, and ran. Wedge took one look at the Princess—technically his CO—and stood up at attention, taking the bedsheet with him. Leia just raised her eyebrows, put her hands on her hips, and said saucily to me, "Greet the day, Hestia."

Since Wedge had pulled the sheet off of me, I yanked at the remaining blanket, trying to cover up. "For it…though it…uh…though it be…" I stuttered, unable to remember any logical response to that Alderaanian greeting. The tangled blanket had suddenly become woefully small and somehow triangular. I gave up, and just scowled at her. "Though it be too goddamned early to wake up." Realizing how disrespectful that sounded, I added, "Highness." Leia giggled and left the room, her laughter tinkling like a bell all the way down the corridor.

By the way, I'm sure Wedge wouldn't mind me mentioning this story. It wasn't anything close to love—it was just a relationship of mutual need and convenience when we happened to be on the same base. And we weren't even close to exclusive.

It was nice, though.

When Han's frozen body was located, Mon Mothma granted Leia leave—reluctantly—and so she left for a few weeks with Luke. Han returned with hibernation sickness. He couldn't eat much for days, and I worked overtime trying to find foods that didn't nauseate him.

"I missed you," I admitted to Han while he munched on ginger crackers in the canteen.

"Oh, yeah?" he said with a smirk. " 'Course you did. Nobody else appreciates your take on Corellian blood sausage."

"Well, there are a couple of Corellians around," I said. "But nobody with your impeccable manners and well-bred sense of decorum."

He snorted. "Whatever you say, Chef." His nickname for me. Then he raised an eyebrow and added, "I hear you've gotten to know another Corellian pretty well in my absence?" He meant Wedge, of course. Leia must've told him. I just shrugged, because Luke had just entered the mess to accompany Han back to quarters.

As Han finished his crackers and got up to leave, I whispered to him, as sexily as I could manage, "Corellian sausage is the best in the galaxy, you know."

His jaw dropped and he gave me a look of mock horror. "What the hell happened to everyone while I was gone?" he bellowed at Luke.

"Delusions of grandeur," Luke suggested innocently.

I don't want to suggest that war could ever be better than peacetime. It's not. But we did have some fun in the Rebel Alliance. It was mostly long days of boredom and gnawing dread of impending doom, with some lighthearted fun thrown in, and punctuated with short bursts of terror, panic, death.

Han and Leia both changed after he returned from captivity. They were sweeter with each other, softer, more easygoing. Oh, they still argued sometimes, but you could tell that it was more out of habit than actual frustration with each other. The war ended soon after Han's return, and that marked the start of a new chapter for all of us.


End file.
